primigravida
by ironbutterfly25
Summary: Curious of the fruit, Wesker sets Uroboros aside. [RE5 AU; canon divergent]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I'm nearly sorry (not really) that the amount of my works-in-progress keep on piling up! It's just... whenever I focus on one story too much, new ideas tend to pop up everywhere! And they frustrate me to no end until they're written down ;_;

This one has been rotting in my drafts since January. Some parts are originally created for **_Forsaken_** , but would not exactly fit there now with the story's current direction (OMG I'll get back to that fic soon, I just have to get over some block on one of its scenes)

What else is there to say, I just feel like I ought to have a story with Jill and Wesker centered on this errr _topic_? (considering the amount of smex I lock them into 24/7 LOL)

Anyway, I do hope you enjoy the read~ :D

* * *

 _ **primigravida**_

 _noun. medicinal term. a woman who is pregnant for the first time._

* * *

Over the horizon, the sun had almost set. Its lull light morphed the dry trees' shadows, creating eerie figures branching out on the reddened dirt.

Like an observing bird of prey, Jill sat among the stillness. She sat on the military jeep, silently watching as Wesker prowled the earth. He moved six paces, back and forth, back and forth, dust scattering beneath his boots. He stopped to crack his knuckles, then rolled his shoulders like he was burdened and tired, before he resumed pacing again.

He fitted there in the wilderness, she thought, especially with the deadly grace in his actions. He was predatory like a panther. And he fitted there - dangerous and unpredictable.

With no orders issued to her since their ride died, she played spectator. They were still an hour and a half to the laboratory and he had done nothing to remedy their stranded situation.

His phone, long abandoned in the front seat, rang loudly - splitting the enveloping silence with its screech. It was such an out of place sound.

Neither of them moved to take it, too content with the quiet.

* * *

When he turned back to her, something in him had already shifted. Something that alerted her inside, sent the nerve signals in her body to go haywire. The device on her chest grew hot, killing her reluctance as he continued to approach. Her blood raced underneath her skin, the red _hot_ blood laced with his essence.

The full moon had risen, bathing him in an ominous glow, its color a disturbing light crimson.

His eyes flashed behind the sunglasses, promising everything besides comfort.

* * *

He didn't grab her for a ravenous kiss. One of his hands wrenched her head to a side, while the other worked over the zipper of her battlesuit. His mouth latched on her neck, teeth skimming over the vulnerable curve, tongue lapping at her pulse.

He hissed as he tasted the salt on her skin. The leash on the beast inside of him loosening.

That day's missteps caused him to be agitated. And with her tampered blood, she easily sensed his turmoil.

So she lay on the cooling floor of the pickup - pliant as he needed.

* * *

Her attention centered on him, the impatience in his movements, the unbridled desire. She expected the tearing sound of synthetic leather under his hurried ministrations. The suit was soon shoved off of her shoulders - quick and careless. His head dipped down to her exposed chest, lips wrapping around one of her nipples.

She felt a tightening in her stomach, a familiar coiling as his lips pulled repeatedly around her tender flesh. Her covered fingers dragged over his scalp, urging him to nurse harder. Sexual acts were strange under the P30's influence. Her body was feeling a lot more, craving for a lot more. A touch was more than a spark. It was a blaze that simply erupts.

But her mind seemed detached, numb of emotions, too gutted to indulge.

* * *

The first thrust always tore a little cry from her throat, as if she was startled that the fire in her core was stoked further.

She expected the grunt that crawled out of his mouth the moment he was fully seated inside. A _grunt_ every time on that first thrust. Like clockwork. As if fucking her caused him physical hurt.

Her gaze wandered over him. He was sweating profusely against her body, like he was melting... She placed her hands on his chest, skin sliding against skin, nails digging in then raking down the steel muscles of his torso.

He shuddered above her, relished in the momentary sting, before he began pounding.

Her muted reactions often frustrated him. She could feel the drag well enough, the way their skin would catch and burn. She could feel the heat boiling from within, steadily spreading into her limbs.

But the drug usurping her will merely allowed suppressed cries.

After all, a doll should be lifeless.

* * *

She was short of breath when it reached its end. And his sated body was a dead weight grounding her. He didn't make an immediate attempt to leave her cradle. He stayed there, groaning low on her ear, hips grinding against her in lazy circles. Her eyes fixed on the ink black sky above them as he tried to catch his breath.

Soon enough, he propped himself up on an elbow. His serpentine eyes studied the details of her face. They were half-lidded and hazy with the afterglow of his pleasure. She wondered what he was searching for as his stare continued to linger. Her current face was but a mask, only capable of _almost_ emotions.

A shy of anger. A shy of fear. A shy of want.

Never reaching a full circle.

There were no stars in the night sky, she noticed when he kissed her.

* * *

"What is your ETA?"

His voice was cold and even, already back to his strictly controlled demeanor. A second later, she heard the flip phone click close.

"Jill." Her body pulled itself upright, holding a shiver well in.

The temperature had significantly dropped within the hour.

She went to him, crawled on her hands and knees to where he sat. His fingers enclosed her wrist when she was close enough, pulling her right into his lap.

His pants were still undone. The material was rough against her bare skin. He tugged her forward, hands firm on the middle of her back and hip, crushing her against the solid heat of him.

She felt her bones groan, a quiet protest. His grip should hurt, she supposed.

But he had made her strong - durable and suitable to his touch.

In their proximity, his scent washed over her senses. He smelled of the afternoon sun and dried dirt. He smelled human and it _baffled_ her every time.

"They won't be here for a while.", he rasped against her ear, strong fingers dragging her closer. He was hard again, pulsing and nestled between her folds.

She anchored herself to him, arms wrapping around his neck. And he arranged her legs tight about his waist, like he craved the intimacy, like they were entangled because of passion, like it was consensual. He lifted her a little. The bulbous tip of of his length teased her entrance. She held his gaze as he sunk into her once more. And there was that grunt again - lustful and primal.

She briefly wondered if she came the last time.

* * *

Suit long ruined, she stood barefoot on the hard ground. His seed had become cold and dry on her inner thighs. His coat suffocating around her form, all that black fabric swallowing her up.

Excella could have set her on fire with the glare alone, bleeding through the sunglasses she was wearing, trying hard to be a match to _him_. It was unwavering, accusing her from head to toe as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

Wesker paid the heiress' seething no mind, climbing into the armored vehicle. Jill wordlessly followed his lead, taking her place next to the driver.

On the rearview mirror, she watched his business partner entice him, only to be rejected.

And from her window, the savanna was captivating - a bare picture of harshness.

* * *

She was sent out of the compound on Excella's commands the following day.

Spy on the B.S.A.A.

Kill a man and his group.

Infect a family or two.

It was her routine for the rest of the week. Once, she was ordered to watch over 'experimental' livestock - anything to keep her out of the premises.

Excella didn't know she was doing her a favor.

* * *

The new battlesuit clung on Jill's body like sloughing clay. It was another sweltering day in Kijuju. Leather squeaked with each of her movements, creating a dragging sort of noise.

She inspected the missiles loaded with his poison, inspected them as if she herself was invested in the endeavor. She looked for dents, looked for nicks, looked for imperfections.

Uroboros' gas form remained untested. Wesker had enough monologues on how it felt incomplete still. But time seemed to be running out with the B.S.A.A. sniffing around their field of operations.

His notes showed how it would infect Africa first, contaminate the air of the whole continent, pick the worthy in its one billion inhabitants. He said the effects would be observed by then.

An explosion sounded off nearby, followed by the alarms.

When she turned her head, she saw a fire raging close, its color blending with the red tint of the plague mask she was wearing.

Her body, with a mind of its own, moved with purpose—feeling compelled to stop the flames... compelled to shield _his work_.

* * *

The accident left cocoons on the metal beams, steaming but unburnt, beating with grotesque life forms.

She watched them bulge for a while, anticipating the surface breaking, wondering what kind of monster it would bring. The researchers ran about her - half thrilled, half terrified.

After a while, the device on her chest seemed to hum low, glowing bright red for a second, sending a signal that she had stood useless about long enough. The fire extinguisher in her hands was dropped and it clanged on the steel floor like a heavy bell. She immediately turned on her heel, steps snappy like she was in a drill. Her boots clicked as she ascended the metal stairs to his station.

She thought it odd to find him standing there at the ledge - waiting for her.

* * *

"Irving's dealings have been noticed." Her voice filtered by the mask was like shrouded in radio static, disembodied and so unlike her. "The B.S.A.A. is onto us."

 _Us._ Her own words mocked her on every opportunity.

She was a part of it no matter what was actually in her heart. She had been turned instrumental to mankind's destruction. No longer a hero. No longer a protector. Jill belonged to _his side_.

It was always like watching herself in a dream, the drug coursing in her veins had become too potent that she couldn't form an ounce of resistance. She felt like a rubber band, pulled taut for too long, made to be loose and unable to regain its shape. She couldn't even feel fury anymore... nor hurt. It was freeing to be unburdened of emotions. But it was also a cage she could only acknowledge and couldn't escape from.

"I'll go back to the village and see through the spread of the parasite. The plagas would delay their approach."

Wesker made no outward response. He continued to read through a report on the recently made Majini soldiers. They were once unsuspecting men, taken and then turned to serve collectively in his ruthless army.

She headed for the door.

"Come here.", he said, tone biting and stern. Her body only needed a second to change direction. She went to him, stood at least a foot away from where he was sitting.

The tyrant stretched to his full height, heat radiating off of him in waves. One of his hands moved and took the mask off. The natural light blinded her for a second. She squinted, then stared past his shoulder once her sight adjusted, watching cargo after cargo being transported in the background.

He moved again, a flick of his wrist and the dark cloak fell around her feet - no longer needed. His fingers slid into the high neck of her suit, pressing against her pulse. _Routine check-up_ , she thought it nothing else besides that. His hand then fell on the zipper of the suit, catching the metal and tugging it open without preamble. _Not a check-up then. It's one of those days again._

Her lips parted as if she was about to say something. But she remained voiceless as the zipper slid lower and lower, revealing her skin. The humid air licked each inch exposed, making her sweat, making her react to his touch just enough, making her _ready_. Her legs slid apart, opening... _offering_.

He stopped.

It was at that moment she caught the snake's eyes hiding behind dark lenses. They were hooded, fixated... on her... a part of her. Their eyes met for a split second, his gloved hand was a cool compress on the naked v the opened zipper left behind, his thumb an inch below her navel.

His expression was unreadable. He held her gaze as his fingers caressed her skin.

"Are you well?", he asked. The words were just _bizarre_ coming out of his mouth. She would have thrown the question back if she could.

"I am.", was the obligatory reply. She had been wired to worry about her well-being. She was not to intentionally endanger herself - place herself in impossible situations. She had been ordered to survive from the start, as well as bring in results.

His hand fell away, whole body tensing like it always did when he was about to make one of his convoluted decisions. She then saw him slip the P30 control out of his pocket. _Why?_ She knew what buttons he was pressing for...

The change was minimal, as small as a bandage being unwrapped. As little as a wound being aired out.

As a test, she thought of punching him, a clean right hook on that cutting jaw line.

Her arm gave a jerk that surprised her.

He was observing her, hand still on the control, seemingly waiting if she would struggle enough to break through, probably waiting if she would be able to provide him some entertainment for the long afternoon.

"Follow me."

The control was tucked away.

He headed for the door. And she was nothing but a shadow in his footsteps.

* * *

She watched the stretch of black leather on his back and shoulders. Her eyes zeroed in on that spot where in a blade could slide in between ribs and pierce the heart.

A screw on her mental cage had come loose.

And her fingers twitched every now and then.

He led her in the room overlooking the tests done with Uroboros. There was an unfortunate soul hooked on the metal chair. Head clean shaven, skin a sickly pale color, body littered with irritated scratches.

One of the lab coats approached the subject. He trashed in the restraints, trashed with quite the force for a seemingly malnourished body. _Futile_ , Wesker would say if he had been observing. But he was busy with something else, unusually disinterested with his masterpiece.

Jill leaned closer to the window as the virus was administered.

The reaction was instantaneous. Black tendrils sprouted from the injection site, lethal blooms seeking the sun they would never see. The worms squirmed in their hunger.

And the lab coat was anything but a runner.

* * *

The sable mass slithered below her, searching for more prey. Its howling shook the reinforced windows. Occasionally, the orange orbs on its shapeless body would turn towards her as it hobbled in the room over and over.

She turned to Wesker, expecting instructions for disposal, only to find him with a syringe in hand.

For a second, her heart stopped.

But it was an inevitability, she thought, something that would just happen in her captivity. She turned back to the window, accepting of her fate.

She had always known that he intended to make a _monster_ out of her.

* * *

The air was unforgiving on her skin as she sat there on a metal chair half-naked.

He didn't infect her with anything.

It was only an empty syringe. And her life essence was currently filling its vacant space, only a sample of her blood being collected.

It had been a while since he required one of those. He stopped when the P30 device had been implemented.

Her eyes followed the hypodermic needle as it was pulled out. It glinted under the fluorescent light and she imagined a slight pain on her arm. He applied pressure on the puncture site, clinical movements, well practiced. The white surgical gloves looked out of place on his hands... She often forgot that he was a doctor of some sort.

All the other scientists had been dismissed.

And Wesker proceeded to run the blood test _himself_ , like the result was a secret he had to keep.

* * *

For the next two days, the African mansion became her humble abode. It was a respite she didn't know she was seeking, for her body would never show the exhaustion her mind was worn down with.

She lay on a thick towel, satisfied with the heat of the granite and the burning rays of sunlight. No amount of sunbathing would restore the color of her skin. But she liked pretending.

A calm descended on her body. And she allowed herself to be lulled by it.

But he soon came to steal her peace. A frown set on his face. His posture all too stiff.

She silently trailed him into the study.

* * *

A painting of Venus served as the room's centerpiece, naturally naked, her lips curved in a kind smile. A boy with angel wings was crowning her head with vibrant flowers.

She thought it pretty as she stood there motionless, awaiting his demands.

"Do you feel different?"

Another bizarre question on her health. His gaze was heavy, straying and staying on various parts of her. She wondered what the blood test had uncovered for him - probably nothing new, most likely disappointment.

"No."

The drug's hold had been intact, not that she tried very hard to make a difference.

It caught her interest when he slipped the control out of his pocket, tapped its surface without pressing anything. With three strides, he got rid of the distance separating them. Her eyes remained locked on the device in his hands, thinking of the purpose of its reappearance.

Perhaps he would try for a higher dose, for better results.

And she would probably die from it.

* * *

"What are you doing..."

Hearing herself _questioning_ him was strange. It had been too long since she experienced control over her own self.

Panic rushed into her system the moment she felt the drug's hold ease on her being.

A string was cut with each heartbeat, making her stagger in disbelief.

"Wesker?" She gasped for air, as if she had been submerged in water for too long, stumbling forward, catching herself on his arm.

She was breathing so hard, coughing like she had been strangled. Her fingers dug into the leather of his clothes, gripping hard, trying to tether herself onto something as her knees threatened to buckle.

Blood was rushing in her ears, her heartbeats too loud and too fast.

The mirage of a perfect soldier falling away.

 _Why?_ The single word echoed in her head.

Her hands were on his arm still, trembling from the sudden lost of power.

She was a live wire unplugged.

And her eyes tried to search his for answers.

Gloved hands slid over sweating skin as he fixed her back on her feet. His fingers brushed over the knot securing her swimsuit - a fleeting touch, almost accidental. She froze at the contact, at the implication. She pushed herself away from him, losing her balance in her haste to escape.

He steadied her with a firm grip on her arm, before he placed a hand on the dead device on her chest.

His touch lingered there - a heavy weight against her racing heart.

"I will have to remove this."

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading!

As always, your thoughts/comments are most welcome~ :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Update 10.08.18:** Reworked this second chapter (the first one felt a bit premature). So there's like over a thousand words added in to this~ :D

 **Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who expressed their interest for this story!

I wanted to post this back in the 24th of May to adhere to some self-given schedule of monthly updates (pressuring self is not healthy) haha! This chapter's nothing but a good old flashback, I'll get back to present time in the next one.

I hope this read will be enjoyable enough~

* * *

The rain bore down on her back, its droplets like sharp pellets matting blonde strands on her forehead. Ice cold water seeped into her coat, at the same time as sweat gathered beneath her clothes. It was a heavy downpour, the sort that obscured surroundings.

Her fingers tightened around the rifle's grip, shifting it just a bit to the left. From the scope, a brief movement went noticed by her. Her aim was realigned in response. She anticipated a limb to slip into sight then.

A man in a tailored suit soon stumbled into the frame she had fixed in place, checking the bodies with fright painted on his lined face. He was not alone. Three armed men swiftly put their guard up around him.

She took note of their weapons, glinting black under the bright lights - customized assault rifles.

She fired the first shot.

They stood no chance against a sniper bearing a semi-automatic.

* * *

Jill disassembled the rifle, picking apart its pieces with precision, then laying them down on velvet felt like a sort of musical instrument. She picked up her stainless cargo and made her way down the cobble streets.

Her blood was alight inside, rushing in her veins, pushing her forward.

Invisible strings dictated every movement, directing her to enact a charade.

She stepped through the double doors of a gallery. The sound of her heels clicking on marble was her only companion - a sound so cold and lifeless, tolling like funeral bells.

 _Death_ , she thought, its _harbinger_ was her role to play.

* * *

She went to climb a curved staircase, running a gloved hand on the steel rail, leaving a wet trail that evaporated seconds later.

The ominous sound of her heels disappeared when she entered the rotunda, the red carpet on its floor smothering the sound. She headed for the man in the tailored white suit, still in the imaginary frame she had set. He was lying on the covered marble. His eyes gazing at her in reverence - dead and sightless.

She bent down and retrieved a data drive from his pocket.

Her eyes took a quick sweep over the dozen bodies that littered the room, fresh blood continued to stream out of the holes in their heads.

All that sacrifice in exchange for the fragile thing in her hand.

She straightened up and led herself to the connecting balcony. Leaning over, she saw the drop and imagined the feeling of hard ground meeting pliable flesh.

Her gloved hand found a grip on the stone balustrade. It required delicate balance when she climbed on the rail, one misplaced stiletto could be fatal. The wet winds immediately beat at her, punishing like relentless whips, testing her resilience.

She allowed herself to fall.

* * *

Suddenly burdened by its weight, she dropped the steel box. Her fingers went lax like wilted plants. Debilitating aches assaulted her joints, spreading out to twist into her muscles. She gasped, knees cracking against the stone streets.

Her body succumbed to ruthless exhaustion and sagged onto the ground.

She was a vehicle _out of fuel_ , shuddering under the chilling rain.

* * *

Her limbs felt numb, abnormally heavy as she tried to get back up on her feet. Her nails dug on the stones, breaking then bleeding under the pressure of her will as she brought herself on her knees.

The rain left a mist that stretched over the streets. She noticed the green and white marble of the buildings - unfamiliar. In the distance, a large red-tiled dome stood out.

Her legs shook as she straightened up, her muscles straining, her bones complaining. But her mind was _miraculously_ her own.

So she forced herself to run.

* * *

She turned a corner, followed a badly lit alley, turned another corner then _another_.

A maze was before her.

Her stomach cramped up and the next thing she knew, she was throwing up. Her temples pulsed, the veins bulging with uncomfortable pressure. She braced herself on the nearest wall, her world was tilting. Tears stung her eyes as a bitter taste saturated her throat and tongue. Her arms shook trying to hold her body up.

Through the tears, she stared down at the vomit that had stained her booted feet.

This was the first field test for the P30.

 _Her first test_.

In the past month, she had never experienced the drug running dry on her. Never experienced this miserable sickness. Wesker never let it dry up. Never.

He wasn't nearby to do anything about it.

And it better stay that way.

* * *

Without the enhancer and with her suffering from withdrawal, her reflexes failed.

A sharp cry left her throat as a sudden pain shot up from her lower leg. She looked down to find a short harpoon protruding from her calf. The black steel tore more into her flesh with every slight movement. And like any caught fish, she struggled in futility.

Jill collapsed, unable to deal with the assault.

The sound of gunshots soon spilled into her ears.

It didn't last long.

The shots. The screams.

They happened and faded along with her.

* * *

An armed unit towered and surrounded her when she opened her eyes again.

She recognized them as _his men_.

Protests escaped her mouth. Weak but no less than loud. They ignored her. Two continued pointing rifles at her squirming form. Another two guarded the perimeter. The captain communicated with the _only one_ in power.

"No, Sir. She didn't make it far.", he monotonously reported, taking a glance at her prone form. "The target party had remnant forces. A bolt took her down."

Her struggles stopped, a pained moan slipped from her lips. With a shaking hand, she reached for the metal piercing her flesh, intending to rip the bolt out, eager to put a halt on the hurt.

"That's not advisable, Miss Valentine." One of the mercenaries lifted her up, with unbearable care as if she was precious cargo.

"We'll return you _home_ now."

* * *

As promised, they returned her 'home'— _to him_.

The scent of vanilla was potent in the air.

On the settee, Wesker stirred his coffee, favoring some steaming cappuccino. He stirred as if he had all the time in the world, with leisure as if she was not bleeding out on the rosewood floor.

Jill used the nearest upholstered chair as a crutch. Her eyes darted to the crystal chandelier and marble fireplace. She couldn't remember being inside of that suite.

"The bath is ready.", he said, tone almost welcoming, domestic. The fine china clinked softly as he lifted the cup to his lips, breathing in the scent of caffeine. "I'll tend to you shortly."

She averted her gaze from him, limping towards the open door of the bathroom.

Her blood dripped, leaving red drops on the polished floor for him to follow.

* * *

From where he was sitting, she knew he could _see_ her undress.

Tired hands worked on her drenched clothes, shedding off one piece at a time. Each piece seemed heavier, not just with the water, they were made heavier by his watchful eyes... _his anticipation_. She was careful not to aggravate her injuries. Her breaths labored in her ears. She felt her hands shake, acknowledged how pale they were, saw how her blood seemed to stain everything.

The sight made her head swim.

Something was wrong. She wasn't just shot. The bolt was probably laced with poison. And _he_ was letting it consume her and pain her.

A form of punishment perhaps.

He wouldn't let her die.

* * *

Her feet tangled in the soaked pants, making her fall on her ass with a loud grunt. She saw him finish his damned coffee, saw him watch her struggle and grit her teeth as fabric dragged on her shredded skin.

The bolt didn't leave a hole. It left a _bite_ , took a clean chunk out when it had been unwisely detracted from her flesh. The area was inflamed, so hot and angry.

It didn't look good. And she felt worse.

The pants came off with lethargic kicks. He finally got off of the love seat and started walking towards her, one polished shoe after the other.

He grabbed her by one arm, dragged her up to her feet. She leaned on him, eagerly so, out of pure exhaustion. He smelled of vanilla and rain water.

Her body arched away from his touch as it skidded over her spine, searching for the clasp of her bra, then releasing the lock once found. She stiffened, too aware of the nonexistent distance between their bodies. Her throat was parched... her mouth... her lips. She ran her tongue over the cracked skin, wetting it.

He shifted against her, just an expanding of chest, only breathing. An action so minute, but had the capability on setting her on high alert, had the power to put her on the verge of _breaking_.

His long fingers glided over her skin, not making contact, leaving it to the ghost of his touch to cast butterflies in her stomach. The digits slipped into her panties next, methodical, no longer exploring, shoving them down her thighs.

"Off.", he ordered when she kept her legs pressed tight together.

She loosened just enough so the garment could slide its way further down - down, _down_ until it was no longer a hindrance.

He brought her in his arms then. And she went limp like a doll, just like how he made her to be as he carried her to the tub.

* * *

Her body welcomed the warm water. She whimpered like an injured animal when he lowered her in it. The steam rose around them, creating interesting patterns before her eyes.

He left her to soak for a while. She could hear him walking around the suite, gathering a number of tools. He returned with a metal tray, on it - basic medical paraphernalia were arranged, shining under the tamed lighting, making her draw a deep breath as she sunk deeper into the water.

A cushioned stool was pulled and placed at the foot of the tub. His sunglasses was then removed, casually placed on the intricate vanity. He made a gesture, patted his thigh, and she found herself stretching her injured leg out to him.

The seconds flowed steadily then.

She was in a trance as he cradled her limb, and tended to her like she mattered.

* * *

They didn't speak.

She watched him clean her wound, watched him inject her with something, watched him wash away the blood - so slow and so careful. He was like an artist in concentration, tending to his piece, correcting colors, brushing away blemishes.

A looking glass hang beside the gilded tub. She followed the operation going on through it, like viewing a program on a television set. Every little detail seemed more intimate. From the ripples on the water each of her breath made, to her gasps with every pressure placed on her injury. From the sweat beading on his brow, to the way his tongue would slither out to run over his thin lips. From the bandages unraveled by his fingers, down to the indentions those same fingers make on her flesh.

They didn't speak.

She knew he watches her run the sponge on her skin, watches the rosy tips of her breasts harden in the cooling water, watches one of her hands slip between her thighs.

Her eyes fluttered close, fingers unintentionally brushing sensitive places. She was wet, _how strange_ , and it wasn't because of the water. As if stung, she snatched her hand away. Her restlessness caused lukewarm liquid to spill over the bath's rim. And a moan not unlike a _whine_ escaped her lips.

They didn't speak.

* * *

"I'm dying.", she whispered against the open collar of his shirt. The towel he was drying her with was cottony soft, she would like to curl into it and lie there for the rest of the torment. She was burning inside. So much. Couldn't he see the great fire ravaging her? So much like him...

"It's nothing but a fever. The antidote is working well."

The sheets rustled as she was tucked in the bed. Her leg was then propped on a pillow. At the back of her lids, she could make him out walking about. His shadow passed the four poster bed over and over, like he was a scene stuck in a video reel.

At some point, he leaned over her. The features of his face distorted. He was nothing but a long stretch of black limbs hovering and guarding. She reached out blindly, reached towards the floating twin flames in the dark. Her hand found purchase on his shoulder, unaware of the gravity pulling him down and forward and closer to her...

"Now, no more escape attempts." His breath teased her nostrils. The smell of vanilla, _again how strange_ , for it to be associated to the likes of him. "I won't be as lenient again."

Her lips parted, spouted something unintelligible that caused him to smirk. She didn't see him do it. His lips tugged upward on the right side, just a bit - his usual display of satisfaction. A small action felt right against her hot mouth.

"Not tonight."

* * *

She next woke to a bright room, accented with blue and gold tones. Her sight adjusted first to an oil painting on the left wall - _Eros & Aprhodite_, the tight script read, situated under the artwork of a luscious woman and a winged child delighted with his stack of golden little arrows.

She stretched, her fingertips touched the azure fabric covering the headboard. It was _not_ the bed she recalled falling asleep into.

Throwing the thick covers aside, she found her lower leg wrapped in fresh bandage. No pus or other oozing signs of infection. No tenderness pouring out of the site. Could it have healed overnight?

The door swung open. She wasn't surprise to see Wesker leaning against the frame, his sunglasses reflecting her state of disarray.

He walked towards the queen bed, sure and careful, dressed casually in a gray button up and black pants. She couldn't see his eyes. But as he tilted his head just slightly, she could tell that he was assessing her bandaged leg.

His arm stretched out, long fingers reaching out for her.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and let him... let him _touch her_.

He arranged her leg to bend at the knee, the sole of her foot flat on the mattress. The night shirt she was in hiked up her thighs, hiked up to expose the lace panties she certainly didn't put on herself.

It was innocent and suggestive that she bristled inside, suppressing the urge to cover herself. It was pointless for he had seen everything. He had just helped her bathe the night before. He had seen all of her _way before_ , completely nude in his glass case, on his experimental table, stark naked _in his bed_ long years ago.

He had seen all she had to offer and had claimed it all before.

Pretending he hadn't was pointless.

* * *

"How are you feeling?"

She stabbed a thick slice of chicken cordon bleu on her plate, coating the piece heavily with gravy. She could almost dismiss his presence, as long as she focused on the dishes laid out on the table, all there to make her mouth water.

"This doesn't have to be difficult, Jill.", he said, almost resigned. His forefinger and thumb caught a bursting grape from the fruit basket, rolling it around until the thin stem gave out, detaching the grape from its cluster. "You've been dead for two years."

Her silverware cluttered against the ceramic.

The wind blew as if on cue. And the scent of roses permeated her senses, daring her to disrupt the pretty picture arranged at the private terrace.

"What do you want from me?"

"Old times.", he answered with a nearly imperceptible shrug, still rolling the grape between his naked fingers. "Work for me again."

 _Work_. She resisted the urge to snort.

"You only want to use me to hurt Chris."

"Chris. Chris. _Chris_." The distaste bled in his tone. But he retained a relaxed composure. "He exists in a different world. Depending on your choices, I couldn't care less about him."

His nail cut into the grape's skin, the juice ran down his finger to drop a clear stain on the table cloth.

"Like I said, you are dead. _We both are_."

* * *

She studied the pink patch on her calf, amazed at the wound's healing rate. Whatever had been done to her in the cryostasis changed her in proportions she would never fully grasp.

"Will you require this?" He stood at the bathroom's entrance, an enhancer syringe in hand. _Would she require it? A drug to make her desire him?_ His dress shirt was already discarded. His pants undone. There was impatience in his posture as he waited for her response.

She sat on the bath's rim, fiddling on the tiny buttons of her night shirt. Her heart thundered inside her ribs.

"No."

But her steel voice didn't give her away.

* * *

 _Old times._

He never came across as a sentimental type. It surely felt like he bore no memory of her when he had been throwing her around inside Spencer's library.

The tub's traditional design was definitely not meant for two people. But he seemed pleased with the closeness. His hands were all over her skin, not grasping like a hungry teen, _just touching_... appreciating every moisturized inch. Something she had experienced him do before. An act of reverence and ownership twisted together.

His fingers teased her in the water, strokes that parted her folds, dips that tested her tightness. She raised her hips when she began feeling it. Heat crawled up her neck as shame tried to saturate her being.

She fitted herself in between his impossibly long legs, the water sloshing with her movements. Her fingers slipped over the soaked skin of his shoulders, finding nowhere to anchor herself to as she felt him against her mound. The wide head pressed in and her arms locked around his neck, her whole body tensing.

He placed an open-mouthed kiss right between her collarbones, nearly reassuring. His tongue sought and caught the droplets clinging on her skin. "Jill.", he groaned her name, and shifted her in a position where in he could suckle an erect nipple.

She whimpered, eyes shutting close, mind submerged in memories.

Old times.

* * *

From the bath's window, she stared at the rose garden. Lips falling open at the lovely view, in the same time they parted to gasp at the sting of his intrusion.

A decade was a long time, long enough to forget sensations. Like the strain from the overwhelming stretch. Like the pull of his lips fastened on her peak. Like the cut of his teeth finding her bare shoulder, biting hard on where it was not too tender.

She let gravity drag her _all the way_ down. The slight tearing made her cry out, thighs closing tight, fingers gripping his hair, feverish lips descending on his.

It only took a minute to relearn such sensations.

* * *

She pressed wet fingers against her clit, helping herself, heightening the heat they started. His hands fell away from her body, draping over the bath's rim, allowing her to lead.

The intensity of his stare weighed on her.

With each of her agonizingly slow push and pull, he would grit his teeth. Fingers threatening to break the bath's iron rim. The muscles on his arms tensing. His chest rumbling with self-imposed limitations.

It felt so tight, _too tight_ , skin catching, _suffocating_.

His head hang back, exposing that strong throat, Adam's apple bobbing beneath the stretched skin. Her eyes memorized his expression, captivated by the way he submitted to passion.

He pulsed inside of her, so full of life.

One downward stroke produced a sharp spark, burrowing against her navel, like a parasite taking residence - eventually controlling her.

She jumped at the feel of his calloused palm on the jut of her hip, just fitting there, molding like clay.

She expected a demand, _a command_ , anything, _everything_.

But his thumb just stroked her skin, fleeting and not intruding.

Patient and content.

But his orange eyes burned bright, betraying his show of saintly restraint.

 _They burned with desire for her_.

* * *

She wrapped herself around him, burying her face against his shoulder, hiding from his fiery gaze.

A crooked embrace.

Her rhythm settled in slow rolls and dragging grinds. She panted on his ear, loud and shameless. Her senses centered on that heavy hand fixed at her hip, as if all reason was tied there and there alone.

"Be mine again." She imagined him saying. A thoughtless sentence, nothing but a mere by-product of his lust.

What else could it be besides imagination or deception?

 _"Don't be a fool."_ She thought to herself before shattering. Their bodies melding together, like molten metal blending, and then hardening into one.

Being his was foolish.

* * *

Like he said, it didn't have to be difficult.

The moment the water turned cold and she began shivering, he moved them to his room.

He laid her down on satin sheets, the kind that glide along her skin, expensive and perfumed.

His affection was forcefully forgotten by her, burned away by his betrayal, but it was also something she had wanted _so much_ in their rotten past.

And _her death_ served as a ticket to be subjected to that affection again.

Death meant rebirth to him.

A restart.

 _What did it mean to her?_

Her eyes slid close, as his body slithered south, skilled lips leaving a wet trail between her breasts... downwards in the direction of her dripping desire. She attempted to close her legs. Something he had anticipated her doing as his fingers readily pried her thighs apart.

He stopped holding back.

And she allowed her muscles to loosen as she stared up at the canopy. Her fingers were already in his hair, pulling and pushing, as his lips dropped on her swollen clit.

Her back arched off of the bed. Fingers tightening on his hair and mouth trying hard not to cry out.

The pleasure jolted her with each swipe of his tongue. He tore into her, split her lower lips with hunger.

Jill covered her face with a hand, as if she would be able to hide from the spreading burn of passion.

Like he said, it didn't have to be difficult.

She could almost forget his past transgressions while his face was buried in her cunt. The only sounds in the room were her ragged breaths and obscenely wet lapping noises.

It seemed easy, especially when he left her pussy drenched and aching for him.

"Inside...", she heard herself saying. " _Al, Please..._ "

It seemed simple, especially when he slid so easily into her the second time around. The right and tight fit that threatened to tear her apart every goddamn time. That feeling of overwhelming fullness.

He buried his face at the crook of her neck, thin lips leaving bruises on her skin. His too deep thrusts left her breathless and talking senseless.

Like he said, it didn't have to be difficult.

Especially when their release came together in a large burst of pleasure. Synchronized and with no pretense. Her whole body tightened and heated and tightened _repeatedly_. Slick walls rippling around his pulsing length, milking him of his thick seed.

His body folded on top of her, exhausted and sated. His solid weight against felt intimate, holding her down and keeping her locked in her rightful place - locked in his arms.

They stayed that way for long minutes. And he didn't soften like a human male. He remained unbearably hard until discomfort bred where they were connected and it started to hurt.

He wordlessly pulled out.

Allowed her to rest.

Waited patiently for her to open for him again.

* * *

He fell asleep, sound and deep, right next to her. It was strange, observing this _version_ of him unguarded. He didn't look like he aged. The shallow lines on his face tempted her hand, tempted her to touch. He was thirty-eight still after ten tiring years. One of his virus' wonders. Another wonder of it was _her_. She was adaptive to its compound, giving her worth, creating a test subject out of her.

She turned away from him, carefully slipping out of his hold.

A 'new world' was what he wanted.

Not 'old times'.

She was not a fool.

Couldn't make herself into one...

Even when she _wanted_ to.

* * *

It was a _make it or break it_ situation.

She clothed herself, moved with stealth, and run away under bright daylight.

By nightfall, she neared an embassy. An hour after that, Wesker had her retrieved.

Nothing was difficult for him.

He wanted her and whatever rotten past they once had.

Everything was easy for him.

He wanted her and whatever twisted future he had envisioned.

And like he said, no more escape attempts for her, his leniency wouldn't be given again.

So he attached a plate on her chest and tethered her to a mind control drug...

 _—Anything to manipulate her heart_.


End file.
